


An Unwelcome Visitor

by helsinkibaby



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Angst, Community: comment_fic, F/M, Ghosts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 13:08:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5335271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helsinkibaby/pseuds/helsinkibaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He thought the ghosts haunting him were metaphorical. Apparently not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Unwelcome Visitor

**Author's Note:**

> Theme: fantastic creatures   
> Prompt : James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond +/ any, he thought the ghosts haunting him were purely metaphorical but apparently they're not

The whiskey slips smoothly down Bond's throat in direct contrast to the prickle of rising hair on the back of his neck that tells him he's being watched. He turns slowly - no need to rush, his security at his flat is better than top of the line so whoever it is, if they wanted him dead, he would be already. 

Then he sees her, the flash of her smile, the tilt of her head, the cascade of long dark hair and he fights the urge to throw the glass of whiskey at her. 

It's easy to stop himself - it would only go through her and shatter against the wall and that's a waste of a damn good drink. 

Instead he says, "Would you kindly fuck off?" 

He never raises his voice and her response trills with a laugh. "Once you admit I'm right."

"You're wrong." He raises the glass to his lips, takes a long swallow. The liquid is suddenly bitter, burning the back of his throat. 

"Oh, James." She leans forward, gives him a flash of cleavage. "You know I'm not. I didn't come back from the dead for this." 

"So why are you here?" He bites out the words. "This isn't Mexico, this isn't the Day of the fucking Dead, so what are you doing here?"

"I've already told you." She's patient, like she's talking to a small child. "I don't want you to be alone." 

Another long swallow, this one almost draining the glass. He turns away, reaches for the bottle. "'Twas ever thus."

"But it doesn't have to be." In the dim light of the living room, her eyes are huge. "She loves you. She risked her life for you. Risked her career for you." She says it like she doesn't know which is the bigger deal; truthfully, neither does Bond. "That has to count for something." 

"It counts for nothing." But even as he summons all the steel in his soul to bite the words out, he remembers the steel of a razor, held to his throat, the steel in her gaze as she looked into his eyes and didn't flinch. He remembers the slow slide of his lips against hers, her skin against his, light and dark a perfect and complementing contrast. He remembers how the tangle of dark curls felt through his fingers, over his chest and against his thighs and all the whiskey in the bottle won't chase those memories away. 

"You're wrong." The words are soft, distant, like she's speaking from far away. "You're a good man, James Bond."

He chuckles harshly at that, suddenly reminded of the fact that she hardly knew him at all. "No, I'm not. And even if I am, it doesn't matter." Because he is not a man to love; countless have tried and failed. He will not add her to the list. 

She means too much to him. 

"Maybe it's the only thing that does." 

He turns back to her then, and her smile is sad, the one he remembers from a dinner table when they'd first met and she'd talked about the love she had lost. She crosses the room until she's standing in front of his, lifts her hand like she's going to caress his cheek. A draught of icy air accompanies the movement and he shivers. 

"Think about it," she whispers, tilting her head as she adds, "I'll see you tomorrow night. Or not."  Then she is gone, vanished like so much cigarette smoke. 

He pours himself another drink, prepares himself for another long and sleepless night, unsure of what scares him more - that he'll see her tomorrow, or that he won't. 


End file.
